Possibility
by wryter501
Summary: "It was me who used magic to cure Gwen's father!" Arthur's excuse for Merlin's abrupt and illogical confession - "He's in love" - serves to clear his manservant... temporarily. "You think because I made the excuse for you, I didn't realize it was just that – an excuse?" Reveal fic, in-canon.
1. The Problem

**A/N: Four parts to this story, each containing Arthur, Merlin pov…**

 **Chapter 1: The Problem**

"It was me! It was me who used magic to cure Gwen's father."

Time seemed to slow as Arthur stared – the whole council stared – at the servant who dared push through the double set of doors to make such an audacious, suicidal declaration.

Shock. In Arthur's case, horror.

Because he _believed_ Merlin, believed that awful conviction and glacial clarity in those blue eyes. It was nothing more or less than the truth. And because, he already _knew_ Merlin and Gwen both were innocent of causing the plague.

It hadn't made sense to Arthur, the assumption that a person who used magic to cure someone of the horrific disease, would be the one causing or sustaining it. No one inside Camelot would risk their friends and relatives by setting loose a contagion that struck so quickly and so randomly. Not Gwen, and not Merlin.

But. Merlin lived with Gaius, and had been assisting in the old physician's investigation of the plague. He had a friendship with Morgana's maidservant, and even without the clear and terrible truth in the boy's blue eyes in that moment of stunned silence, Arthur could very well believe that Merlin would go looking for a cure, even by magic, for her father.

"It was me," Merlin repeated, as though they hadn't heard him the first time; he spread his arms in a gesture of strangely defiant surrender. "Gwen is not the sorcerer. I am."

Gaius lurched up from his chair. "Merlin! Are you mad?" he hissed.

"I cannot let her die for me," Merlin said to the old man, and met the king's gaze, down the long table, with more courage than Arthur had seen in many a knight of the realm. "I place myself at your mercy."

Arthur felt sick to his stomach, and ransacked his brain for some way out of this – didn't Merlin realize by now, there was no mercy for magic-users, no matter what the actual use?

Gaius rounded on the king, stern but desperate. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

"I do," Merlin protested.

"Then arrest him," Arthur's father said calmly. Probably just as taken aback as the rest, but he at least knew the natural consequence of confessed sorcery.

"Father, please!" Arthur blurted, as the two door-guards stepped forward to take either of Merlin's arms in a surprisingly desultory manner. "This is madness!" His feet took him closer to his servant almost involuntarily; _what to do? what to say?_ He didn't want Merlin executed any more than he wanted Gwen to die, and neither conclusion would save the rest of their citizens, in any case. "There's no way that Merlin is a sorcerer."

"Did you not hear him?" Uther said, slightly patronizing.

"Yes," Arthur had to admit.

"He admitted it."

"He saved my life, remember," Arthur said. Surely that merited… something.

"Why should he fabricate such a story?" the king said, and Arthur recognized his opportunity. He wasn't sure whether his father yet _believed_ Merlin, as Arthur did, or was simply dispassionately following the dictates of his own law, but the question was a natural opening for an excuse.

"As Gaius said, he's got a… grave… mental disease," Arthur said. _Are you mad? This is madness!_

"Really," the king drawled.

Perhaps madness was not enough to prove Merlin's innocence, or prevent the punishment of execution. _Think_ _faster, think faster_ … All he came up with was to tease and mock, to belittle the boy and make the whole thing a joke. Somehow.

"He's…" Inspiration struck, and Arthur concluded triumphantly, "in love."

"What?" Merlin said.

 _Shut up, idiot, and let me save your life_. "With Gwen," Arthur added, with a smirk and flourish.

"I am not," Merlin protested.

Arthur could have rolled his eyes, but the rest of the council – and more importantly the king – seemed willing to believe. And it probably wasn't too far from the truth, anyway; Merlin obviously cared enough for the girl to make this confession.

"Yes, you are," he told the boy – and another memory teased. "I saw you with that flower she'd given you." _That'll settle it_ , he thought, satisfied, as he cast another glance around the table; Gaius was relieved enough to seat himself again.

And Merlin seemed to realize that they didn't believe him, any longer. "But – I'm not in love with her."

Arthur covered his sigh of relief; the protests only served to strengthen the truth of Arthur's excuse, to their audience. "It's all right, you can admit it," he drawled, draping his arm over Merlin's narrow shoulders.

"I don't think of her like that!" Merlin said to him, embarrassed.

"Perhaps she cast a spell on you," the king remarked. Arthur froze for an uncertain second, wondering if Uther was _serious_ about the suggestion; then his father laughed – the whole council laughed – and he relaxed again.

"Merlin is a wonder," Arthur said, "but the wonder is that he's such an idiot." He palmed the back of his servant's head and gave it a little shake. Maybe some sense would rattle loose. Through clenched teeth he concluded, as a warning to the boy, "There's no way he's a sorcerer."

"Don't waste my time," the king said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Let him go."

The guards released their hold and stepped back. Merlin gave him a look that was almost disappointed, glanced back at a king and council preparing to forget the interruption and resume business, and turned on his heel. As Arthur returned to his seat at the top of the table, Gaius stood and bowed to Uther as a request and excuse for his departure as well.

A temporary solution, Arthur knew, as the meeting droned on. An emergency, as the whole situation was an emergency, but without any definite leads to act on, they could only fall back upon measures taken to contain and minimize damage.

Merlin had used magic. Healing magic, evidently, and successful. Arthur wasn't quite sure what that meant, how it would change things. How it might change _them_.

As a knight, he'd fulfilled the requirements of honor by saving Merlin's life in return; he owed him nothing further. Did he?

His second inclination was to keep Merlin away from him – and the order to assist Gaius in physician's duties served perfectly. Until Arthur had time and opportunity to decide what should be done, next. Having saved Merlin from the king's wrath and judgment, he wasn't about to negate the effort by reporting the truth, but neither could he pretend – at least not for long – that he was fooled by his own excuse.

As he crossed the courtyard heading for the entrance to the underground cisterns supplying the city's water, Morgana just behind him – Arthur's third and instinctive reaction was to draw his sword for protection against the sorcerer fidgeting and biting a thumbnail as he waited and watched the guards erect a pyre for Gwen.

Witchcraft was evil. If there was the slightest possibility that Merlin was dangerous, he would have to be dealt with.

And then Merlin turned his back to Arthur without hesitation, without a second thought. If Merlin was willing to lead him – to trust him – to fight a monster that threatened the health of all of his people… the contemplation of what punishment fit his crime, would have to wait.

Because injustice was evil, too.

* * *

 _There's a possibility… (there's a possibility…)_

 _All that I had… was all I'm gonna get…_

* * *

 _Bright and early_ , Merlin grumbled internally as he made his way to the prince's bedchamber. After that nightmare battle in the cistern-tunnels, couldn't they all take a few extra hours in bed that morning?  
And what kind of order was that, anyway? A contradiction in terms. _Early_ couldn't be bright – not when it applied to Arthur Pendragon, anyway. Not that _bright_ applied to him, either.

Merlin huffed to himself, his mind on the scene in the council chamber the day before – the fear of confession that was somehow exhilarating, too, to stand before the king and admit to the power he'd hidden. And then at Arthur's ridiculous floundering for an excuse, they had all laughed at him. Even Gaius had called him stupid, after – though he could see the old man's reasoning over solutions, quick and easy, or complicated but lasting.

He skidded around the last corner, noting the absence of any guard stationed near the prince's door, careful not to tip the breakfast tray. It might serve to sweeten the prince's temper, or distract Arthur from whatever he had planned that he wouldn't tell Merlin about. Hunting, maybe, or a double training session, something to work out the _worry-danger-relief_ of the _plague-magic-afanc_ of the last few days.

Pushing his way through the prince's door, he closed it behind him and kept his eyes on the tray as he slid it carefully onto the table – cluttered as that surface was, he simply shoved dishes and food and articles of clothing indiscriminately into a bigger pile in the middle, before turning toward the bedchamber.

He'd barely glimpsed that the great bed was already empty, through the archway, when an unseen assailant snatched him from behind, flinging him several feet back, to slam him bodily into the closed door. Hard enough for black flecks to obscure his vision.

Shock and magic sparked through his veins but he _held_. No matter what Gaius thought, he was learning control – to think first and judge a situation instead of just reacting.

Though immediately - physically, instinctively… _briefly_ \- he fought the enemy weight. His own hands fisted in his attacker's clothing – too close to hit, he settled for trying to shove - he bit a yelp and his tongue, as his neckerchief was yanked sideways hard enough to constrict his airways.

The cold sharp edge of a blade kissed his neck, just under his jaw, forcing his head even higher, warning him to surrender. But he couldn't.

He couldn't see the prince. Couldn't call out. Couldn't use the magic, just in case –

"Don't fight me, Merlin." Arthur's voice in his ear, hissing command and warning.

He froze; part of him relaxed – it was only Arthur, no one else there intent on murder, and the prince wouldn't _hurt_ him, after all – while part of him tensed with uncertainty. Because the knife was sharp, and kept his muscles from slacking, or him turning his head to see Arthur. Whose tone was serious – even maybe dangerously serious.

"Don't fight me," the prince repeated, "and I won't hurt you."

If he nodded he might slit his own throat on the blade, now warming a bit from proximity to his skin. If he opened his mouth to speak, he might cut himself at least. He still couldn't see more than an upper corner of the room – a cobweb he'd missed –

"Mm hm."

A moment more, before Arthur's weight eased away from him. Merlin started to turn his head, but the material at his throat tightened – the knife blade retreated, only to slam back into the wood of the door. Just brushing his earlobe.

Arthur stepped back – further out of sight – but the pressure around his neck remained. Merlin dared lift his hands to explore, tentatively careful of the sharp edge, and found that Arthur had pinned him to the door with a knife through the folds of his neckerchief.

His fingers found the hilt and tugged in experiment, but it was secure. Arthur was very strong.

Merlin wriggled around where he could see more of the room and still breathe, pushing himself up on his toes, the wood of the door rough against his back, snagging the material of his jacket. The prince stood five or six paces away, into the dawn sunlight of the open window, arms crossed over his chest as he seemed to gaze outward.

"What the hell, Arthur," Merlin complained hoarsely, trying to still the thundering of his heart in his chest.

"Stand still," Arthur responded evenly, not turning. "Don't fight, and I won't hurt you." He shifted, and something glinted just under his elbow; he had a second knife in his hand.

Merlin thought incongruously of their first meeting, Arthur throwing knives at a moving target, still in Morris' hands. He had since discovered that the prince's marksmanship was exquisite; Morris had been more humiliated than frightened. Even in their own mismatched brawl through the market, he knew now that Arthur would not seriously have harmed him, he was too _good_ with those weapons for that.

That was Arthur, Merlin had learned in his first two months in Camelot – not cruel, just persistently, arrogantly dominant.

"What's going on?" he said. Maybe the prince could force his body still – but not his mouth. And he habitually relieved nerves in speech, not action. "What are you doing?"

"So," Arthur said deliberately, not answering him. He turned to pierce Merlin with his gaze, over his shoulder, raking him down, then up – then inexplicably turned his back again. "You're a sorcerer."

Merlin swallowed against the twisted material of his neckerchief, hand still ineffectively on the hilt of the knife just next to the hinge of his jaw. His body hadn't quite obeyed the order to stillness til now, and his mouth was dry.

He choked out, "What?"

Arthur moved his hands to his hips; sunlight flashed on the second blade between his fingers. He seemed to be engrossed once again with the view outside the window. "Come now, Merlin, surely you haven't forgotten so soon," he drawled. "Just yesterday you confessed to my father and the council."

"But… but you said…" He stuttered to a stop, and his mind couldn't seem to get started again. _He thinks he's so sharp_ , he'd mocked the prince to Gaius. The blade now nestled next to his artery was almost ironic.

"I said what I had to, to get you out of the room."

Merlin suddenly realized that Arthur was positioned to see every move he made, in the polished surface of the breastplate on display in the corner. He hadn't really turned his back on a man he accused of magic; it was a test, giving a confessed sorcerer a clear opportunity, to see what he would do with it. That steadied him a bit, to realize the prince was prepared to be both intelligent and fair. He waited, watching the reflection of Arthur's face to let him know he'd caught on, and after a moment the prince turned with a sardonic half-smile.

"You think because I made the excuse for you, I didn't realize it was just that – an excuse?" He sauntered forward, with the fluid gait Merlin had seen him employ on the training field just before he lunged to attack an unsuspecting opponent, tapping the flat of the blade he carried against the other palm. "You are a sorcerer, then, or not?" Merlin considered, and Arthur pointed at him with the knife. "Don't lie to me, Merlin."

"Okay!" he said defensively. "No – not… really."

Arthur cocked his head. "Explain."

"Um. Because I haven't really studied or practiced the art of magic, I'm not a _sorcerer_ , exactly."

"But you have magic," Arthur clarified narrowly. "You've used magic. In Camelot." And even though he looked angry and anyone finding out about his magic for real, was really really bad, Merlin was encouraged. The prince was questioning, not condemning.

"Yes," Merlin said.

"How long?"

"That I've used magic?" Merlin shifted. He had to stand with his heels off the floor to breathe, which stretched the muscles up the back of his legs. But the knife wasn't budging, and Arthur was listening. "Since I can remember. My mother said I used to move things around before I could walk."

Arthur scoffed. "I warned you not to lie to –"

"I'm not!" Merlin objected.

Arthur watched him a moment more, his expression one of faintly fascinated disgust. Then he gave his head a single involuntary shake, turned slightly to take a few steps, pivoted to return and repeat the process. "So you used magic to heal the blacksmith," Arthur said. "But you're not the sorcerer that put that creature in our water supply."

"What?" Merlin exclaimed, and felt the sting of the blade on his jawline reminding him to keep still. "Of course not!"

"You did something to help me defeat it, too," Arthur said, relentlessly compelling confession. "The sword was useless, but you did something to the torch."

"It was because the afanc was made of earth and water," Merlin tried to explain. "And the other two elements, fire and air –"

"What about the final match of the tournament a fortnight ago?" Arthur interrupted, unfaltering scrutiny in his ice-blue eyes. "The knight with the shield whose snake sigil came to life to attack. Took him by surprise as much as me."

"Well, I _told_ you. And I thought – if it happened in front of the king and everyone, you'd _have_ to believe–"

"How did you know what to do?" Arthur demanded, taking Merlin's half-protest, half-explanation as confession. Which it was; it felt a strange relief that the prince's knife was a breath away from ending his life, but it was honesty rather than blood that came pouring out. "You just told me, you don't study or practice."

"Well, I mean…" Merlin squirmed, feeling his face heat slightly. "I did have to find those spells – and the healing one – but otherwise…"

"You found them where," Arthur said.

"Um." Merlin pushed himself a little higher, tugged at the neckerchief tight around his throat to give himself a moment's thinking time. "I came across this old book – and oh, I should say, I did have to try the one to reveal the enchantment on the shield almost _all_ night –"

Arthur wasn't diverted. "A book of spells? Where?"

Merlin pressed his lips together. This, the king's son couldn't make him tell.

Arthur watched him closely, then – why had he ever thought the prince thick – made the connection himself. "Gaius' chamber is full of old books," he remarked. "Any more like the one you found?"

Merlin said desperately, "No – I don't know – please, it was only me, he hasn't done anything –"

Arthur shook his head, looking down as he began pacing again, more slowly. "My father trusts our physician," he assured Merlin quietly. "I won't ask you to implicate Gaius."

"What are you going to do?" Merlin said, calming a bit as well to hear that his guardian was safe.

"What else?" Arthur said, almost absently. "What other magic have you done, here? Any more spells from the book?"

"No."

"What, then?" Merlin hesitated, and Arthur shot him a look something like an amused glare. "Come on, Merlin, might as well be hung for stealing the horse as the saddle."

Merlin swallowed, and felt the skin of his neck brush that sharp edge of the knife again. "Am I going to be hung?"

"Absolutely not," Arthur declared immediately. "As long as you tell the whole truth."

Merlin said, "I used magic to do some of the chores you set me so I could look at that book instead, and I used magic to get you out of the way of that knife and to loosen the chain of the suspended light fixture in the banquet hall so it would fall on the witch that was trying to kill you and to stop you hurting me when we fought in the marketplace and to save Gaius from falling and the water from spilling and that's _it_ , I swear."

Arthur's expression was studiously neutral; Merlin couldn't tell if the prince felt shock or disbelief or amusement or rage. No, probably not rage.

Then he remembered – his stomach rolled uneasily – that sorcerers weren't hung, anyway. They were burned.

"All that, without reference to the one book of magic you've ever seen," the prince said.

"Yes I _told_ you I've been able to move things all my life," Merlin said, feeling a bit desperate again. Achy muscles, and a shortage of unpanicky air.

"Show me, then," Arthur said. Still, without emotion that was recognizable to Merlin; he wished he knew the prince a bit better, to guess what he was thinking, in that moment.

Without moving his head – his throat still in danger from Arthur's knife – he searched the room with his eyes to see what, _what_ … Something to throw at the prince, that would help relieve his feelings and Arthur would see how it felt to have something chucked at his head –

The goblet off the sideboard lifted and flew through the air. Not hard or fast enough to knock Arthur out, but to give him a jolt of surprise before he caught it.

Reflexively ducking even as his hand closed about the goblet's stem to halt its flight, Arthur twisted to stare toward the sideboard which had supported the odd projectile hitherto inert – and a ceremonial dagger, Merlin now realized, that had been half-behind the goblet. The prince straightened, to give Merlin such an inscrutable look that he shifted anxiously in an attempt to ease his muscles.

Then Arthur stalked toward him, setting the goblet on the single bare spot on the tabletop with a vehement clang, and passing the knife he still held to his right hand.

Every nerve in Merlin's body cringed instinctively; he couldn't turn his head but he screwed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in anticipation of the second knife rammed into the door through his clothing – maybe this time through part of _him_.

Arthur stopped barely a foot from him, so close Merlin could hear him inhale, twice; he was holding his breath, himself. Then ripples of motion spread through the blade touching his neck as Arthur put his hand on it, and with a rough yank, Merlin was freed.

He opened his eyes to watch Arthur retreat, handling the blades familiarly, but absently. He didn't quite dare, yet, to move away from the door where he'd been told to stand still, but he sagged in relief, and to hide the trembling in his legs. The prince, without saying a word, began to pace again. Merlin took a deep steadying breath, and when he reached to untie his neckerchief it was with fingers that were – almost – steady.

There were holes. Three, actually, sliced right through the fabric, where a repair stitch would be obvious and the rip would continue to tear open.

"You've ruined it," he blurted, a bit angry over Arthur's arrogant carelessness. And maybe to deal with the uncomfortable shakiness that came after a moment of danger. Arthur swung about to look at him in surprise, and he held up the cloth to demonstrate the damage. "You've ruined it," he said again, and heard the tremor in his voice. Fear or temper, he wasn't sure, but he knew Arthur had heard it too.

He watched the prince lean backward against the window casement, half-turned from him, but the tension had gone from the set of his shoulders. Arthur drawled sarcastically, "If it matters that much to you, I'll have it replaced."

Merlin held his gaze and stepped forward, folding his neckerchief entirely by feel. Was it his imagination, or illogical hope that whispered to him, the prince's words assumed a future for him that included the option of a new neckerchief?

"Do you mean…" he said tentatively. "Ah… what are you going to do about me? You're not going to tell your father?"

"My father would have you burned at the stake before noon," Arthur said, and Merlin shivered at how nonchalantly the prince could make that statement. When it was of life or death importance to _him_.

"You're going to banish me?" he ventured. He could just go home – Ealdor was outside Camelot's border – at least for the time being, until he and his mother figured something else out.

"No," Arthur said decisively. "I can't just release you, a known magic-user. Any crime you committed, any wrong or harm, would be on my head, then."

Well, if Arthur wasn't going to kill him or free him… "What, then?"

The prince set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, thinking. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think the things you've done deserve execution. But the law is the law and I can't change that. Sorcery is outlawed, on pain of death." He straightened, facing Merlin fully. "Could you take a solemn oath never to use magic again, for any reason?"

"No." Merlin spoke without thinking, but the answer would have been the same no matter what. Maybe it would have been smarter to agree and later find a way out of it, but… Arthur was trying to deal with him fairly, the least he could do was the same. The prince frowned at him, and he scrambled to try to explain. "Sometimes I do it without thinking, to catch something that's falling or… or… and what if someone was in danger, like you were, or Gaius, I couldn't _not_ do something."

"But if you get caught, you get executed," Arthur reminded him.

"I'm willing to take that risk," Merlin said, a little pleadingly.

"I'm not. I can't let you." Arthur was unapologetic. "It is my duty to uphold the laws of Camelot – I can't release you, I can't allow you to continue."

Merlin didn't want to say aloud that he didn't see another option.  
"If I send you to Gaius, will you swear to stay in his chambers today, unguarded?" Arthur said.

Merlin thought. He could say yes, and then take his chance to run – but where and to what? And what would the prince think of him – of all magic-users, then? And what of the destiny the dragon had spoken of? The purpose of his magic that meant he wasn't a monster, and without which he might as well be dead?

"Of course, if you ran," the prince added casually, "I would have to set the hounds on your trail…"

Merlin snorted. Well, Arthur could have killed him already, and he hadn't; there was every possibility he'd live through whatever punishment Arthur came up with. He let Merlin have his chance to explain, so…

"Yes," Merlin said. "I'll stay."

He would let his prince have the chance to decide.

* * *

 _There's a possibility… (there's a possibility…)_

 _All I'm gonna get… is gonna be yours then_

 _All I'm gonna get… is gonna be yours still_

"Possibility" ~ Lykke Li


	2. The Judgement

**Chapter 2: The Judgment**

"Good morning, my lord," Geoffrey said, "is there anything specific I might help you locate?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Arthur drew himself up decisively, even as uncertainty assailed him internally.

What if Geoffrey guessed, about Merlin and why Arthur was here? The boy's confession – even ridiculed and dismissed - had been anything but _private_ , after all. What if he reported either or both of them to the king? The court record-keeper, he expected, could not help but be curious; Arthur had devoted far more time to training his body than training his mind in recent years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in Camelot's library.

"I'm looking for something like a history of law, or a record of trials held over the past… quarter-century? The accusation, the verdict, the sentence, that sort of thing." Arthur flapped his hand to indicate the broad generality of his interest, maybe even hint at random boredom.

"Ah," Geoffrey said only. "You'll want this corner, then." He placed his hands on either page of the book open on the desk in front of him to assist in rising, and Arthur followed him between two massive rows of shelves, around the far end of one. The old man cocked his head to the side to better peruse his collection. "These are the records from the beginning of your father's reign, through last year, on this shelf."

He lifted down the first of the volumes in the row, an enormous tome fully four inches thick, protected by a thin cover of leather-bound wood, tied shut with a faded ribbon. Arthur put out his arms to receive the burden, and a cloud of dust rose as the old man gave his charge a fond slap.

Arthur inhaled slowly, trying not to sneeze. "Thank you."

"May I also offer a chair and table for your convenience, my lord," Geoffrey said, gesturing to an alcove. "Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.'

Arthur made a pleasant noise of acknowledgement and thanks, and heard the old man's shuffling footsteps retreat as he turned to straddle the chair and open the book on the table before him.

The first criminal he was handling on his own.

And it was his own servant; Arthur snorted to himself, turning a page, and sneezed. Well, just about – there was that incident with the knight from the Western Isles in the tournament. He paused to stare into the distance, thoughtful. His only hesitation over taking that offense to the king's full court had been the proof. The head of an exotic-looking snake, and the word of a servant. The promise of corroboration when the noble victim recovered – if he recovered – which he hadn't.

Had that trial gone differently, he would have watched Sir Valiant burn for the crime of sorcery. Without reservation or doubt that justice was performed.

Was it only because he knew Merlin? That had been his first instinct when the boy interrupted the emergency council meeting. Make the excuse and get Merlin away from Uther; of course shadowed by the assumption he'd already made, the one guilty of the plague would be a stranger – therefore it was illogical to expect that the execution of the blacksmith's daughter would halt the spread of the disease. Or Merlin.

Would he still make excuses to offer protection if a servant who'd been a stranger to him had burst into the chamber to confess… to _healing_ , with magic?

No, _that_ was the difference – the usage, not his familiarity with the user. The knight had used sorcery to attack; the enchantment on the shield was to use the painted snake's poison as another hidden, illegal weapon to win the prize of a small fortune in gold. Selfish, destructive, and dangerous. If a knight Arthur _had_ known – Sir Ewan himself, maybe – had done the same, how would Arthur have handled hearing the accusation, seeing the severed serpent's head? Especially if the magic had already been used to fatally defeat an opponent. Perhaps he would have gone to the knight personally to advise a confession, beg the mercy of title-stripping and banishment. Or a quick execution.

Though, if the knight had performed the magic, the way Merlin had, instead of merely carrying an ensorcelled weapon…

Merlin's performance of magic, if Arthur believed him – and he did, actually, there was something about the boy's confession that morning, pinned to the inside of Arthur's chamber door that had rung true, like his words in the council chamber _It was me; I place myself at your mercy_ – had been the exact opposite of that shield-spell. Healing, and protection, and rescue. Precariously unselfish, naively helpful, when he could have stood back, done nothing, and remained safely secret, himself.

Merlin hadn't. And so, Arthur wouldn't stand back and do nothing, now. If there was a possibility another solution could be found, he owed the boy that much, at least.

He'd had a chance to send a dagger flying at Arthur, that morning, and he'd chosen the goblet, instead. And only _after_ Arthur had asked to see; despite his claim of having using magic during their street-fight, he hadn't used it this morning for self-protection at any point. As if he… trusted Arthur.

Arthur shook his head to rid himself of the thought, and focused on the book again.

This whole page was dedicated to the search for a particularly treacherous – and evasive, evidently – sorceress named Nimueh. The knights, it seemed, had been a step behind her for more than a year; the people more afraid of immediate magical reprisals than the king's slower-moving justice in terms of giving aid. Interesting, but not what he was looking for.

At that time, citizens were being recompensed royally for any damages or harm done if a fugitive sorcerer was resisted, those coerced or tricked into giving shelter or selling supplies punished with fines or confiscation of property, rather than swift and unquestioned execution. Arthur was quite sure that there had been alternative forms of sentencing for users of magic, too, in the early years after the ban became law.

He couldn't simply overlook Merlin's use of magic. That made him culpable if and when Merlin committed some greater crime of theft or injury – intended or not. And to allow his servant to continue unchecked put Merlin's life in danger, too, if someone else discovered and reported him. Even if Merlin himself was willing to risk that, it was Arthur's duty as his master to prevent that.

It was his duty as a crown prince, too, to see that a known sorcerer wasn't simply released to wander the five kingdoms, doing gods-knew what magic. Someone as innocent as Merlin could easily be manipulated by someone whose purposes were more nefarious than healing and protection.

So he searched for another option. Something to block or remove a person's magic sounded best – that way, Merlin was free to stay or leave, if he chose to, someday – without fear.

Arthur allowed the corner of a smile as he turned another leaf of the record-book. Perhaps if he found a solution and it worked, he could even mention it to his father, the next time a magic-user was on trial for something like healing magic, _kind_ rather than evil.

* * *

 _So tell me when you hear my heart stop_

 _You're the only one that knows_

 _Tell me when you hear my silence_

 _There's a possibility I wouldn't know…_

* * *

"Did you forget something?" Gaius asked with asperity, as Merlin pushed his way into the physician's quarters, wearing what felt like an expression of awkward doubt.

He'd only glanced up from chopping comfrey root at his work-table momentarily, but when Merlin leaned back against the closed door behind him – thinking in a whimsical way that his guardian might be angry enough with him to use a knife, himself – without answering, the old man paused to eye him expectantly.

"Do you remember –" Merlin cleared his throat – "I was upset with Arthur yesterday, that he didn't believe I could use magic, and made me look a right idiot before the council?"

"As I recall, you did that very well on your own," Gaius told him.

"Well, it turns out…" Merlin scratched the back of his neck as an excuse to look away from that forbidding eyebrow. "He did believe me, after all."

A crash of crockery drew his gaze back to Gaius, who'd lost his grip on the clay bowl in his hands. "The prince knows you have magic?" Merlin nodded. "Merlin, are you _sure_?"

He widened his eyes and nodded more emphatically. Oh, yes.

"How is it you're _here_ , and not –" Momentarily at a loss for words, Gaius gestured to indicate meaning.

"Dead or arrested?" Merlin supplied. "I'm – not sure, myself. He's not going to the king, but he said for me to – stay here while he decides what to do."

"Well, quickly boy – go and pack and be on your way before he thinks to warn the guards against your departure."

Merlin stared at the old man. Surprised and yet… not.

"And go where, Gaius?" he said. "Back home? I can't – at least not for very long. There were reasons I left, remember?" He heard the pleading tone in his voice and wasn't ashamed of it; he pushed away from the door to approach the physician at his work-table. "I don't want to go, I don't want to start all over among strangers, I want to stay with you, and Gwen, and… everyone. Yes, all right, even that arrogant prat, even when he threatens to send his dogs after me if I try to run. And… I promised him."

Gaius shook his head and pointed his tiny silver knife. "Boy, you are playing with fire," he said, meaning every bit of the double entendre. "Well, there's plenty to be done around here while you wait for the ax to fall." He watched Merlin swallow hard and not change his mind. "You can start with that feverfew, crushing the dried leaves to powder, if you please."

Seldom had Merlin spent a more restive day.

Dragging boredom – Gaius glaring and grumbling and setting him to the worst of tasks on purpose – interrupted by fits of paranoid fear, especially the four times the door opened on a visitor's request. His magic seemed disquieted, though it might only have been nerves or instinct. Ready for anything. But by late afternoon, when the sunlight no longer entered directly by the windows, but candles or lamps weren't yet necessary, the room fairly glowed with the rich amber light he usually found restful, and he'd managed to capture a bit of calm.

To the point that when the door opened for the fifth time, Merlin didn't jump and spin, pulse spiking through his body. He kept at the valerian root he was preparing, breathing through his mouth to avoid the odor – quite like the prince's socks, actually – until Gaius spoke.

"Good afternoon, sire."

 _Then_ Merlin jumped and spun, his pulse spiking.

Arthur, wearing his long jacket open over a deep blue shirt and carrying a short scroll in one hand, turned from closing the door behind him. "Gaius," the prince acknowledged the old man with the confidence that often rubbed Merlin as arrogance. "Merlin." A touch more sarcasm. "If you will excuse us…"

Gaius turned and met his eyes, nodding to Merlin to reiterate the request, and Merlin retreated slowly to his little room, feeling a bit rebellious. Because it was his life and his fate that hung in the balance. And because that was easier to feel than fear.

He closed the door but mashed his nose on the panel to see through one of the larger cracks. Arthur unrolled the scroll on a cleared end of the work-table, opposite Merlin's abandoned valerian root. He leaned on his hands over it, as Gaius seated himself on the bench to scrutinize whatever was written there.

Merlin turned his head to bring his ear to the crack to catch as much of the conversation as possible. Gaius, he couldn't understand, since the old man sat with his head lowered and his back mostly to Merlin's door; his voice was lower and quieter than the prince's, anyway.

 _I assume he informed you about our conversation this morning…_

The old physician mumbled a rather lengthy response; Arthur's earlier assertion that he wouldn't ask Merlin to implicate Gaius reassured the hidden listener.

 _Yes, I think so… Are you familiar with this formula? Have you ever used it, maybe in the early days of the Purge?_

Merlin shivered involuntarily, but set his teeth determined to hear everything.

 _Yes, I understand that –_ impatiently _– but it was used successfully?_

 _Oh, come now, surely you're exaggerating._

Exasperation. _Well, would you rather leave it up to my father to decide? Or maybe I should just do it myself – quicker is more merciful, after all, isn't it? Or maybe you have something around here that you can give him too much of – send him pleasantly off to sleep and he'll never wake up?_

Merlin grimaced to himself in spite of the ample sarcasm that leached truth from the prince's words.

 _Then this is worth a try, isn't it? The possibility of success._

And then, _Yes, all right, if you'd rather talk to him. How long will it take before it's ready?_

 _Fine. I'll be here first thing in the morning._

 _Yes, to observe, if that's the way you want to put it. To drop the axe myself._

Sarcasm, Merlin told himself. Sarcasm. But when the sound of the main chamber door closing on Arthur's exit freed him from the confines of his little room, he descended the three stairs with shaky legs.

"Did you hear?" Gaius said shortly, with a negligent glance toward him.

"A little." Merlin made it to the work-table, and slid onto the bench opposite the physician. "What is it he's decided? What does he want me to do?"

"He found the formula for a potion used in non-criminal exercises of magic, the first year after Uther instituted the ban," Gaius said. "It was designed to neutralize innate magic, and prevent a sorcerer from touching the magic of nature to borrow or use."

Merlin looked at the sheet, feeling much the same as he had when watching cobwebs form on the entire company as the witch-lady sang in the banquet hall. He said, "And it worked?"

"There was some demonstrable measure of success," Gaius allowed. "There were even those who requested the remedy as an alternative to banishment. Some parents, as I recall, frightened for a child showing signs of having magic."

"Gaius, if…" His mouth was dry; he shook his head and tried to swallow. "If I took that, would I…"

He'd said to Gaius, his first week in Camelot, if he couldn't use the magic he had, he might as well be dead. Now he felt that if he didn't have it to use, he might as well be dead.

Never more than Arthur's second-rate servant, Gaius' dogsbody. And three times in the last two months he'd saved Arthur's life with magic, when any physical means would have been impossible for anyone. If Merlin lost his magic – or worse, the ability only, while the sense of it remained – how many more weeks til he watched the only heir of Camelot's throne die from some cause _he_ might have prevented?

"It's hard to say for sure." Gaius continued speaking, with a physician's detachment from personal feeling when discussing a medical or theoretical possibility. "You are so different from others who use magic. To be born with it, to have such instinctive control, to master such advanced spells so swiftly, untaught…"

"You think it won't work on me?" Merlin said hopefully.

Gaius shook his head. "It might work. It might kill you. It might have no effect whatsoever. I cannot predict the outcome." He sat back, releasing the scroll; the corners curled toward the center.

Merlin conversely leaned forward over his elbows. "Is there any antidote? Any way to reverse it, if it's going badly?"

"No… My boy, please take some advice from an old man who cares about you and has seen far too many young men die needlessly. Pack your things and run."

Something in Merlin rebelled. At the idea itself, and the old man's assumption that he would. But he wasn't a coward.

"My mother told me, over and over, keep it a secret," he said softly. "Only for emergencies. Only if there's no other choice." He hadn't always listened, and less as he grew out of childhood. "I was very young when I learned why my magic scared her so. Honestly, I'm a little surprised I've lived this long, sometimes. I don't want to die, but I don't want to spend the rest of whatever time I've got looking over my shoulder and always moving, never staying in one place long enough to make friends. Hiding in caves and suspicious of everyone I meet, that someone might turn me in. Captured by a bounty hunter. I've seen what the hounds do to the animals the hunters don't want for food, Gaius." Ripped, literally, to pieces, before the hunters could get close enough for a mercy killing. "I don't want that to be me."

"Nor I." Gaius exhaled. "I suppose I could concoct a harmless replacement – you would have to be extremely vigilant about your magic afterwards, of course, especially in Arthur's presence. No more voluntary confessions before Uther and his entire council."

It was an insidiously attractive idea. Simply to pretend to take the prince's potion and to continue on with life as normal. What did one more lie matter, anyway? Except, he found that it did. His magic was not something he told or showed, but when Will had guessed – it had been a relief to tell the truth. As it had this morning, to the prince. And Arthur had been honest with him – merciful and generous, under the circumstances.

"There's a possibility this won't affect me or my magic, right?" he said, poking the offending scroll in the center. It rolled up to gently capture his fingertip.

"Yes," Gaius said, and no more. Clearly, leaving the choice up to Merlin – which he appreciated. Being treated like an intelligent adult rather than a foolish child was kind of a rare thing for him, yet.

He wondered what Arthur would do, in case the potion failed in its purpose. Report him to the king, as was his duty – and a crown prince of course trained to duty above all else – or find another temporary solution?

Merlin wondered if it was a possibility that Arthur would accept that magic was a part of him – not a threat but a resource – and let him be to continue using it. In an emergency, when there was no other choice.

"Make it," he said.

After that, Gaius worked in a silence that was somehow more ominous than the grumbling. Merlin, who might have helped with the process if he'd been asked – but he wasn't – spent the rest of the evening in his room. With the magic book the old physician had given him, and which he'd barely begun to read. Not specifically looking for an alternative of his own, but just paging through. It was like walking the meadows and woods around Ealdor, before he'd set off on his journey here.

Saying goodbye, maybe.

When he slept that night, the book dog-eared over his chest, he dreamed of the dragon.

Ancient magic, and powerful, shackled by the king, and yet willing to at least hint at the solution to Camelot's – and Merlin's – problems.

 _Destiny. You cannot do this alone. You are but one side of a coin; Arthur is the other._

When he woke, he gazed up at his rafters in the pre-dawn gloom a long time. Cobwebs, and a spider or two. Comfortable and peaceful and luxurious compared to what he had in Ealdor. Which would be luxurious compared to what he could expect if he ran.

He inhaled deeply of the dust and age and tingle of magic that clung to the pages on his chest – the weight itself comforting and reassuring and rich. Closing the book carefully as he sat, he scooted off his bed to replace the precious illegal compendium of knowledge in its hiding place, and the floorboard that covered it.

Then he turned to the window, and deliberately stood on the table to open the panes of glass and lean outward, as he'd done his first morning. The astonishment was muted somewhat, by his familiarity with the scene, but he still felt the same expansive pleasure to be here, of all places. A city full of people like Gwen and her father. Like Morris and Gaius and Sir Ewan. He wasn't sure what Camelot was to Uther – a prize, a trial, a responsibility, a reward – but it was Arthur's pride and joy, he knew.

In using his magic for Arthur, he used it for the whole kingdom. And that was, he felt, exactly as it should be. He no longer doubted _unite the land of Albion_ , as he once did. He could admit the possibility… in the far distant future, perhaps.

Merlin turned and dropped down from the table, dressing himself carefully in clean clothes gathered from the sparse clutter – nothing so bad as Arthur's room could be, but he still hadn't tidied after the guards' search the other day. Blue shirt, red neckerchief, boots and jacket, and he even ran his fingers through his hair to comb it. Then he opened his door and descended to the main chamber.

Gaius was up already – if he'd ever been to bed – decanting a viscous, rusty-orange liquid from the vessel that fit into the tabletop tripod to be heated by a candle's flame, into one of his dose-bottles.

"Is that it?" Merlin said.

The old physician grunted, and pointed Merlin to the smaller table by the wall, where they ate their meals, with a glance. "Breakfast," he said curtly, short on optimism or just sleep.

Merlin straddled the bench, with his back to the wall, feeling a bit queasy suddenly at the thought of bland runny porridge. He compromised with breaking off half of the small loaf of bread left over from yesterday, and a cup of water to wash it down a rather dry throat.

"I do wish you would reconsider, Merlin," Gaius said, sealing the vial with his thumb and shaking it. "Your life is far too valuable to risk on an uncertain venture such as –"

"Gaius, don't worry, it'll be fine," Merlin said. And somewhere deeper than the flutter of anxiety, he believed it. "Listen, if this is my destiny, if I was born with this great magic always intended to serve and protect Arthur Pendragon – then this will be all right, too. This potion cannot stop or change my destiny, can it?"

 _None of us can choose our destiny, and none can escape it._

"Theoretically, no," Gaius said sternly. "But _actually_ –"

The door opened, interrupting him and causing them both to turn to see the figure that filled the doorway – armor shining touched in the golden glow - just as the first fingers of sunlight edged over the sill.

Prince Arthur.


	3. The Solution

**Chapter 3: The Solution**

The first thing Arthur saw was the vial in the old physician's hand. A fascinating, revolting orange.

He hadn't slept all that well. Dinner with his father and Morgana had been an odd affair, discussing and reliving the adventure in the underground cistern-tunnels, the story initially told as proof that the cause of the contagion was gone, and Morgana's maid innocent of the charges. Uther was still officially displeased that Arthur had taken his ward and a servant instead of a troop of knights; Morgana was enthusiastic over his bravery and heroism, mostly to placate the king.

Arthur preferred that to more pointed comments about magic and justice, but could not fail to appreciate also the irony. A dozen knights instead of this particular servant, would have failed. He himself had only used the torch at Merlin's urging and because his sword had been knocked from his hand by the water-creature.

The thing haunted his dreams, too. Reaching with three-inch claws and slavering jaws and he was frozen and alone. He dreamed the night of the caves turned to midday in the arena and the fangs that pierced his flesh were those of twin green snakes. And the outdoor scene washed into the indoor setting of a banquet hall, and a sorceress' blade hurtling for his heart…

He woke and the prickling feeling at his chest was only cold sweat.

Seeing the potion ready in Gaius' hand, he wondered if he'd made the right choice. Then again, he didn't think Merlin would prefer some of the other just-short-of-death options he'd discovered, the least inhumane of which had been permanent iron bonds, which would have been uncomfortable at best and damn hard to explain away.

"That's it, then," he heard himself say, and realized he was adjusting his gloves to give his hands something to do while he stood there somewhat stupidly, and the old man and the boy looked at him.

"Sire, I beg you," Gaius said. "The possible side effects – perhaps you could reconsider."

"There's nothing to consider," Arthur said. That was something he'd learned from his father. A judgment once rendered could not be honorably repealed. "Merlin, if you would…" He gestured, trying to keep it more of a request than a command.

"It's fine, Gaius," Merlin said, reaching out to take the potion before the old man noticed. "Arthur, will you promise me something?"

Arthur moved forward until he could have touched the table that held what looked like breakfast for the two of them, still only half of what he'd been brought on his morning tray by – someone who wasn't Merlin. "If I can."

"If I drink this, do you promise – that'll be the end of it? I mean, that there won't be – you won't decide –"

"That further punishment is in order?" Arthur said, grimly amused. "No, Merlin. You take this potion and the fact that you ever had magic stays between us, you have my word." Merlin raised the vial to his lips. "That's not to say," Arthur added, to tease some sense of normalcy back to the situation, "that you won't find yourself mucking stables or standing in the stocks for other instances of rule-breaking or insolence."

Merlin laughed like he knew Arthur had been joking – he was, mostly – and threw back his head to down the concoction in two swallows. Arthur and Gaius watched him grimace, eye the dregs in the bottom of the tiny glass through its top – then he tilted it again to slurp as much as he could get.

"Does it taste _good_?" Arthur said without thinking.

Merlin set the vial on the tabletop and immediately picked up a horn cup of water, drinking it straight down, gulp after gulp without stopping for air. Then slammed that cup down, wiped his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve, and gasped, "Tastes awful."

"How do you feel?" Gaius said intently. Arthur realized he was holding his breath, waiting for the answer, and purposefully inhaled.

"Fine, I guess," Merlin answered, after a contemplative moment. "It was… warm, a bit."

"Hm," Gaius said. "Well, do return if any other symptoms develop – I trust you will allow him this, sire?"

"Of course," Arthur said, though something about the old man's sarcastic politeness diminished his generosity. "Ah – how long is it meant to take?"

"A full day," Gaius said. "This time tomorrow, we'll know." He turned away to his work-table, and it might have been Arthur's imagination that he added in a mumble, "One way or the other."

"Well," Arthur said, looking down at his servant. "We have things to do today. I'm due on the training field in half an hour."

"Right behind you, sire," Merlin said, with a hint of the insolence that was normal for him.

A sigh of relief escaped Arthur, but he bit back the grin, instead turning to head for the training field. He heard Merlin's footsteps following, down the stair, across the courtyard, out to the field, where Bedivere, Pellinor, and Owaine waited, while others went about routine exercises.

Arthur drew his sword as he approached the trio of knights, calling out, "Let's do two-on-one today, to begin with, and then – Merlin, what _are_ you doing?"

His servant had dropped to a lazy slouch on the bench that bordered the field. Hands empty, when normally he used the time to care for other bits of Arthur's armor and weaponry not currently in use. And the water cask all the men used for drinking or pouring out over their heads when it was hot, was empty also, next to him. Merlin didn't immediately hop up to rectify his mistake, or even offer a jibe to cover it, just gazed at Arthur as wide-eyed as his first day.

Arthur made a noise half-sigh, half-growl. "Water," he ordered, with a mockingly exaggerated gesture. "Fill the barrel, Merlin, do I have to tell you everything?"

"Seems like you do anyway," Merlin muttered, slipping away, and Arthur turned his attention back to training.

Two-on-one was a good way to distract his attention. Truth be told, he was a little nervous about his first judgment on a magic-user, even if it was only Merlin. He worried that someone else in that council room – his father – might still be suspicious. He worried that someone else might have witnessed Merlin, one of those other times he confessed to. He worried that the idiot might slip up sometime today before the potion could reach full effectiveness and he'd be safe from that sort of thing.

And, it set him on edge that it wasn't immediate. As punishments for law-breakers went, Arthur found he preferred the ones – like beheading – that went too quickly for thought or much feeling. Not like the fire reserved for sorcery, slow and excruciating.

An hour later he called a halt, and dismissed the three knights to join the others in their general training, before turning toward the water barrel. It seemed to him that Merlin might have been slouched inactive again, but as soon as Arthur's eyes fell on him, he was on his feet, dipping a fresh cupful.

Arthur accepted it, grateful for the cool wet feeling in his mouth and down his throat, and that his servant had managed to pick up some of these anticipatory habits.

Then he noticed that Merlin was having trouble breathing.

Not panting, as though he'd hurried with his heavy burden of bucket after bucket of water from the side-courtyard well to fill the cask, but slowly. Almost as if he was in a deep sleep – but it wasn't soft and gentle. Maybe like he was swimming a great distance, face in the water for faster stroking, except for an occasional deliberate deep breath.

"Are you all right?" Arthur said.

Merlin made a sarcastic noise, to reassure him. Or both of them, maybe. "It's just – hot out here. The air is thick."

"Do you need to go to Gaius?" Arthur drawled condescendingly, to cover a concern that twinged. Merlin rolled his eyes and huffed; Arthur took it as a _no_. "Pick up that shield then, and – no, leave the sword. Just the shield."

He watched his servant out of the corner of his eye as he sauntered to the middle of the field, swinging his sword negligently to prepare.

One of the reasons he'd been horrified at his father's choice of reward for the savior of Arthur's life – with magic, ironically enough – wasn't just the peasant's incorrigible impertinence, but his utter lack of proper training in his required duties, caring for a member of the royal household. If that wasn't bad enough, Merlin was completely unfamiliar with both horses and weaponry. Completely. Knew nothing about their care or usage or handling – for Arthur, or himself.

Two faults he was attempting to resolve simultaneously – to punish forgetfulness or negligence by sending Merlin to muck the stables. Sooner or later he'd learn the protocols of service - and sooner or later he'd become accustomed to the big animals too, feel at ease around them, learn the details of their care and personality that would help him someday when he joined Arthur on patrols or quests, when maybe hard or long or fast riding was necessary.

 _This_ , however, was the only way he'd thought of to teach Merlin the basics of defending himself with a weapon. Also necessary on those patrols or quests. Ostensibly it was to further Arthur's training – though sparring with a beginner like his servant wouldn't do him much good – but he had hoped the boy would begin to learn what Arthur was trying to teach.

So far, however, Merlin simply endured and whined, and followed instructions sullenly and without really seeming to grasp _why_. And Arthur, short on patience, mocked and provoked and figured maybe sheer repetition of the moves would prove sufficient.

Today he had decided against sending his servant to the stables. And probably use of the shield was enough; he didn't have to force the issue of simultaneous attack and defense, two-handed fighting with sword and shield. They didn't often ride out with shields, but if Camelot ever was at war again, Merlin would still act as the prince's attendant, on or off the battlefield, running messages and carrying extra supplies, that sort of thing.

But after half of an hour, Arthur quit. It was very little use pretending that today's session was benefitting him at all, and though Merlin endured silently, for once, he was probably retaining next to nothing of the advice Arthur hurled at him.

"We're done," Arthur said, dissatisfied.

He sheathed his sword, watching Merlin lean over as if the shield was three times its actual weight, not removing it so much as he allowed it to slide from his arm to the ground. With an eloquent groan, he joined it, sprawling out in the grass.

Most days they went at least twice as long. And Merlin had the energy and breath to fire pointed insults and sly barbs the entire time.

Arthur stepped to where his shadow fell across Merlin's face, and studied him closely, even as the boy shifted to lift a hand to shade his eyes and squint up at him. Still he didn't pant with the exercise, but gulped those great, slow breaths that – Arthur bent to tease open the knot of Merlin's neckerchief and yank it free from the boy's neck – yes, that hollowed out the base of his throat unnaturally.

"Hey!" Merlin protested.

Arthur turned his back and stalked to the water barrel. Take him to Gaius? Probably it was nothing. He considered how he might check Merlin's heart-rate without being obvious, absently dipping the cloth in his hand into the water.

"Hey," Merlin said again, closer now as he'd gotten to his feet to follow. "I don't have that many of those, you know – yesterday you sliced one up, and today –"

"It's only water," he retorted condescendingly. Arthur wiped the dripping cloth over his face before slapping it across Merlin's. There, that ought to do some good. Now, to get him – "Inside," Arthur added. "My room needs sorting; Morgana was offended at the mess – and that was two days ago."

Merlin wrung out his neckerchief and hung the twisted cloth around the back of his neck before responding. "It's your own fault, yesterday you confined me to Gaius' chamber, and the day before that you had me doing other chores and running errands and helping Gaius." He exaggerated in mocking imitation of Arthur. "I haven't been in your rooms since yesterday morning, and you didn't seem keen on my work, then."

"That's because –" Arthur bit his tongue. Because he'd been wary of magic – even healing magic – alone in the same room with him. Or, alone in his room. It was unnerving to think, almost two months and he hadn't noticed anything untoward, before yesterday's awful confession.

But Merlin didn't seem to notice his fumble.

"Come on, it needs doing," he said – and a moment later had to remind his servant to fetch the gloves and knives and greaves from the field-side table. Merlin loped to the table to gather his burden – half a second slow, Arthur wondered – but turned with such an impish grin that he dismissed his misgivings.

Once up in his room – and thankfully no mishaps due to Merlin's clumsiness, though he was very slow today, maybe that was the reason, he only tripped and dropped things when he was in a hurry – Merlin exclaimed in annoyed dismay at his first real look at Arthur's chamber. "What happened in here?"

"Told you it was a mess," Arthur said over his shoulder.

"Yes, but – for heaven's sake, you leave it like this and then you're _surprised_ when there's rats?" Merlin dumped his armful haphazardly on the sideboard, to begin with the mess of – Arthur had lost count – several meals, on the table. "They can bring you a tray from the kitchen, but not come back to clear it up?"

"Leave it," Arthur instructed. "I have a meeting with my father after eating the noon meal with Morgana, and neither of them will appreciate with the way I smell now." He held out his arms expectantly, and Merlin dropped the dishes he'd already gathered into an irritated jumble, to come unbuckle and remove Arthur's armor.

It was done in silence.

Arthur counted the breaths the boy took, but could see no other indication of poor health. As he turned from shrugging out of the padded jacket he wore under the chainmail, Arthur stopped Merlin with a hand on his shoulder.

His thumb intentionally on the pulse in the boy's neck. Normally he wouldn't use his thumb, but that vein in the neck throbbed deliberately enough that Arthur could be sure he wasn't simply feeling his own pulse.

"Most of the time," he said – _one… two_ – "I know it can seem that" – _four… five_ – "I'm being hard on you –" _eight… nine_ – "But, Merlin, I want you to know –" _thirteen… fourteen_ – "You have shown improvement, since my father made you my servant." He let his hand drop. Merlin's heart was beating slow enough for him to be asleep. Arthur's pulse was faster, and he was in better shape for climbing stairs wearing an extra dozen pounds of armor. "I want you to know, I don't regret that."

"You sacked me during the tournament three weeks ago," Merlin said.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I was angry, and humiliated," he said, stepping behind his dressing screen to peel off his sweat-soaked shirt. "I didn't come to tell you come back to work because I won, or you were proved right, you know."

From the other side of the screen, Merlin made a noise of disbelief, almost covered by the resumed sound of dishes.

"You – deserved better from me," Arthur said softly. Merlin had told the truth, had risked himself to warn Arthur, and from injured pride – and maybe a good bit of fear, facing that shield in the arena himself – he'd said something he didn't mean, made a decision that was somehow the wrong one. Even though he had every right to dismiss his servant for less than no reason whatsoever, that didn't make it _right_.

After Arthur had bathed and changed his clothes, he paused at the door while Merlin turned back to the table once again, but the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat.

"Don't forget the laundry," he said instead. "And the floors need done, and all –"

Merlin said at the same time as he did, "Before I get back." Sarcastically, with his eyes on the work and his body bent casually over the table, rather than standing to attention to address his prince. So terribly un-servant-like Arthur almost snickered.

They'd be fine, he told himself, closing his door on the mess and refocusing his attention on the upcoming meal and meeting.

It was late afternoon by the time he returned. And when he opened his door, his first impression was that Merlin wasn't even there – it was too still – and that he hadn't done any work at all. There were streaks of dried mud visible on the floor and a pile of laundry on his bed through the archway; every single candle was lit in spite of the bright sunlight, and on the table -

Merlin. His hips at the edge of the tabletop, his upper body sprawled motionless across its surface, crumpled rag still in his hand, his legs collapsed beneath him. His face turned away.

A couple of times Arthur had caught Merlin napping in the midst of chores. He hadn't worried too much; the work and schedule of a prince's manservant surely took some adjustment. He simply kicked the boy awake – gently, of course, conveying displeasure without inflicting bruises – and punished him with another chance to adjust to horses.

But no one could just fall asleep in _this_ position, surely?

Arthur's mind noted the rise and fall of those too-slow breaths under Merlin's faded shirt even as his feet took him around the table where he could see the boy's face.

His eyes shut. His lips blue, and… his fingernails, too.

* * *

 _Know that when you leave… (know that when you leave…)_

 _By blood and by me… you walk like a thief_

 _By blood and by me… and I fall when you leave_

* * *

The last thing Merlin remembered was wiping the table. Eyeing the wide bare surface and feeling so tired. Even the hard wood looked inviting, he thought he'd try it… just once… just for a moment…

And then someone was calling his name and shaking his shoulder and his chest hurt and his hips hurt as though he'd been lying on that table for hours. He shuffled his feet a little to get his bearings – they felt odd, too, probably the blood had drained down his legs – and positioned his arms for better support.

"What?" he said, irritated at being woken, at being found shirking his duties without a good excuse.

"If you were cold, why didn't you just put your jacket back on, instead of lighting a blazing fire? And if you were tired…"

Merlin flattened his palms on the tabletop, pushing himself up - but then turning to slouch his weight in a sitting position on that piece of the prince's furniture, rather than trying to stand. He squinted in the direction of the prince's voice and saw a shadow move in front of a faint light far away.

"I'm not cold," he said crossly. "And I lit the fire –" and the candles, but they'd obviously burned down; he wasn't going to call Arthur's attention to that – "because it's so dark in here, which is probably why I felt tired, how late is it?"

Believing his impression that the prince was across the room, Merlin jumped when a hand touched him, tried to pull away from the prince's grip of his shoulder and – _chin_ , of all things.

"It's only afternoon," Arthur said, "not yet near dark. There's something wrong with your eyes."

"What's wrong with my eyes?" he said, squinting at the pale blob of the prince's face in the dimness.

"Look at me," Arthur commanded – Merlin scoffed; he was already doing that. "Now look at the candle."

A tiny far pinprick of light. Merlin tried to focus.

"There's something wrong with your eyes," Arthur said again. "And if you're not cold… come on, I'm taking you to Gaius."

"Oh, _why_?" Merlin whined. He hated to mention any physical infirmity to the old man – Gaius made it seem like every bruise and sniffle was somehow Merlin's _fault_ – and especially after this morning.

"Because my room really does need cleaning, and you're useless if you can't even see what you're doing."

Merlin felt Arthur's arms, his body, trying to gather and guide him, and he resisted. He was tired and maybe a bit frightened, deep down, but he didn't want Arthur. Didn't want to show this part of himself to the prince. Maybe he'd relax in Gaius' embrace, but he didn't know the old man very much better – instinctively he wished for his mother.

But Arthur was at least as stubborn as he, and stronger. His hand at Merlin's elbow, the prince marched him out the door – down hallways, down one set of stairs and up another – exactly as if he was under arrest. Merlin did wonder… until he smelled the familiar pungency of the physician's chambers.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Gaius said immediately, too close, and Merlin flinched from him, too, without meaning it.

Arthur's hand pushed him, and he obeyed, glad to find at least the stool under his backside when he landed – gripped the edge of the seat to keep from losing it.

"He's breathing strangely and there's something wrong with his eyes and you can see for yourself his lips and fingernails are blue."

Merlin immediately raised his hands for his own inspection, but couldn't see them clearly in the eternal twilight that seemed to have settled over the whole citadel. Gaius took them, though, and Merlin submitted somewhat grumpily to his guardian's examination.

"Pupils contracted and nonresponsive," Gaius muttered, "heart-rate slowed… What does it feel like when you breathe, Merlin?"

"Feels like my lungs are made of leather," he admitted. "I thought, because I had to fill the water-bucket, and then we did training in the sun… I thought my eyes would adjust, when we went inside, only they didn't, and then I thought maybe… it was just getting late?"

"Your body is not getting enough air."

That seemed silly; he was obviously breathing, wasn't he?

Merlin flinched again at the sudden sensation of fingers unlacing his shirt, but the round instrument Gaius laid to the skin of his chest in preparation to listen to his lungs wasn't then completely unexpected.

He turned his face to Arthur, a lingering, shifting shadow among shadows. "I forgot my –"

…

" –rlin!" Gaius insisted.

"Jacket, in your room." Merlin blinked. His cheek stung, and Arthur was inexplicably kneeling next to him, instantly ten feet closer.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded. "What was that? What happened?"

Merlin wasn't sure if the prince was asking him, or Gaius. "What?"

"You were saying something, and then you – stopped," Gaius said. He sounded worried; he was somehow seated just next to Merlin on the edge of a bench that a moment ago had been in the opposite corner.

"I said, I forgot my jacket in your room," Merlin said.

Arthur disregarded him. "Is this because of that potion?" he said, turned toward the physician.

"I think it's likely," Gaius responded. "We'll have to hope that –"

…

Perhaps more candles lit in this room would improve his vision. Arthur had wanted it clean when he got back, after all.

He reached for his magic; it slithered from his grasp like a reflection in water, all shimmering promise and shattered reality.

Quite like destiny, maybe.

…

"Merlin!"

Arthur's hands on his shoulders, and his neck sore like he'd been shaken, and Gaius talking too quickly.

"No, sire, that won't help either, the fit is involuntary!"

 _Fit_? he tried to say. Tried to turn his head to face Gaius, but it wobbled. And – strange sensation – his hands and feet seemed to have disappeared. Blue fingernails, he remembered – he wondered if it was true of his toes, only… Probably it was improper to bare his feet before the prince…

Who was in Gaius' chambers, for some reason.

"Arthur?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

The prince just stared at him, as if he was the one out of place.

"Give him a minute," Gaius said. "The disorientation should fade. He'll remember."

Merlin cocked his head at his guardian, puzzling why Arthur should be disoriented, and what it was that he'd remember… something about magic… and judgment…

Oh. The prince _knew_ – Merlin's heart leaped and he gasped too suddenly and choked – the potion, and Arthur had said –

"Anything you can do?"

"Perhaps a… salt in water or… but it was several hours… just don't know."

Merlin realized that the prince and the physician had retreated slightly to discuss… oh, _him_ , probably.

He blinked and even in the twilight gloom noticed that one of Gaius' little glass dose-bottles had fallen to the floor just to the side of his boot. He bent to pick it up – make himself useful while he wasn't part of their important conversation – but his fingertips with their blue nails brushed only each other, as it shimmered and slipped from his grasp.

Just like his magic.

The effect was a bit fascinating. He tried again, and then again, with no more success but he wasn't worried and it seemed to make sense that he should keep trying until –

…

" – Are you doing, Merlin?"

Arthur's hand on his shoulder again, holding him upright – why was he trying to touch the floor?

He focused as his fingers twitched, but the floor was bare, so he leaned away from the pressure of the prince's hand. "What?"

"Perhaps it would be best to get him into bed?" he heard Gaius say.

It was dark. It was probably night. And _late_ , he thought, perhaps that was why he didn't seem to be thinking clearly, and couldn't remember how he'd spent his day. Busy, he thought, to feel so tired now.

Why had he been busy? Oh, the plague… the monster… "Arthur! Did we kill it?"

The magic… the prince _knew_. He'd used a sharp blade and -

But Arthur's hands were gentle, lifting him and guiding him. "It's okay, Merlin, you'll be okay."

He trusted. So he followed.

 **A/N: FYI. Mid-November (NaNoWriMo) and I'm barely managing to keep up with my word count. And now I have family in town. So my responses are going to be cut way back this week… Thanks for patience!**


	4. The Re(Solution)

**Chapter 4: The (Re)solution**

 _So tell me when you hear my heart stop_

 _You're the only one that knows_

 _Tell me when you hear my silence_

 _There's a possibility I wouldn't know_

* * *

"I just don't know," Gaius concluded.

Interrupting an illogical and unfair but very real irritation with the physician – and more deeply, with himself – _something_ made Arthur look over his shoulder.

Merlin was hunched over his knees on the three-legged stool near the door, one hand trailing near the ground, making a rhythmic movement with his blue-tipped fingers. As if he tried to pick up something that wasn't there.

"What's he doing?" Arthur blurted to Gaius.

The physician shifted to see, then sighed. "That behavior is a sign that the fits of vagueness are worsening," he said.

Arthur tried to keep the bleak horror he felt from showing. "This is my fault."

"You were not to know," Gaius said.

Yes, but if he'd _listened_ …

Arthur couldn't bear to watch the mindlessly repetitive jerking of Merlin's hand and wrist, and crossed to kneel beside him. "Can you hear me?" he said, bending to see his servant's eyes, the pinprick pupils in a sea of glassy blue. "What are you doing, Merlin?"

Whether the boy heard him or simply emerged from the fit, he paused, then straightened obediently at the pressure of Arthur's hand on his shoulder. "What?"

"The fits will likely be accompanied by brief memory loss," Gaius said. "Perhaps it would be best to get him into bed."

Merlin twitched in unrelated alarm and exclaimed, "Arthur! Did we kill it?"

The boy was re-living the fight with the water-creature; Arthur struggled to feel amusement, only, not anything else. Not anything else.

He stood, and coaxed Merlin to do the same, leading and prodding him to the patient's bed, where he pressed him down to sitting as he had done with the stool. Gaius bent to lift Merlin's lanky legs onto the couch, and Merlin laid back with childlike submission.

"It's okay, Merlin," Arthur said, with a confidence he didn't feel. "You'll be okay." Gaius turned a stern eyebrow on him, and he said, "There isn't any way to reverse it? An antidote?"

The word implied poison, he realized.

"No," the physician admitted. "We will simply have to wait it out."

"Those records," Arthur said haltingly. "The side effects you mentioned, I thought – I don't know, maybe a headache or a sick stomach, or…"

"I tried to explain," Gaius told him, surprisingly gently, "the severity of the physical symptoms corresponds to the strength of the magic in the user, as the potion has more or less magical ability to overcome and render inert. And Merlin is the strongest I've ever seen."

Twelve more hours, Arthur thought. Already it was this bad, and Merlin had twelve more hours to go. A doubt occurred to him for the first time, whether the boy's body would be resilient enough to contain the struggle of the potion overcoming the magic. Which would prove stronger, and what would be the final cost to Merlin.

"Do you think –" He watched Merlin's eyes drop shut, his head loll tiredly on the thin pillow at the raised end of the bed. "Do you think he'll –"

A quick knock sounded, startling them both into turning to face the guard who leaned head and shoulders into the physician's chamber.

"Sire, the king has requested that you dine with him this evening."

Arthur gritted his teeth. But he couldn't just refuse – his father would ask why, and the excuse _my manservant is ill_ , wouldn't be sufficient. Uther wouldn't care if Merlin was dy- He stopped the thought.

"Notify me of any change?" he said to Gaius, who nodded.

At dinner, he sat across from Morgana and beside his father, in his usual place. In their usual clothes, eating the usual food.

His thoughts, however, were anything but ordinary.

How could he have believed that Merlin's crime deserved this sort of punishment? Even if he returned to find Merlin happy and hearty, eating soup with Gaius and answering Arthur's concerns and commands with impudence. How could he have thought to prescribe this cure to anyone else, even a stranger he wouldn't have to watch suffer? _Especially_ a stranger he wouldn't have to watch suffer. And in spite of his father's opinion on judgments rendered, Arthur wished he could somehow repeal this one.

He watched his father toss bites casually into his mouth and laugh at something Morgana said, and wondered, how his father had ever used the potion as a solution, or a punishment, if there were such side effects.

Such uncertainty.

Perhaps Arthur's crime deserved this punishment of waiting and wondering and… guilt? He shook his head and focused on his plate. Odd thought.

He excused himself early, complaining of a headache – to explain his trip to the physician aside from checking his servant's state of health – but any hope he might have clung to that Merlin had improved, was dashed the moment he opened the door.

Merlin was curled up on his side, small as he could get, and _shaking_. Arthur could see from across the room how the candlelight caused the perspiration on bone-white skin to sparkle; Gaius sat next to him, hovering but not touching – waiting – haggard.

Arthur opened his mouth and said, "He's _worse_."

By heaven, _when_ would the boy's magic yield to the potion?

Gaius raised his head at the interruption, but blindly, and didn't respond. Arthur forced his feet to take him nearer the bed, and the tension in the Merlin's body relaxed as he came. The old physician bent over him, brushing dampened hair from his forehead, surrendering his place to Arthur with a single comprehensive glance, retreating to the work-table.

"Did you tell him it would be like this?" Arthur said suddenly. "Did you warn him, at least?"

Gaius snorted; he'd never heard such bitterness and guilt in a single sound. "I could easily have concocted a harmless brew and lied to you both… but he made this choice."

"Why?" Arthur said. An anguished whisper. He dropped onto the stool beside the bed, watched Merlin's eyes open and focus on him, pupils still unnaturally contracted. "Why?" he repeated. "You could have taken your chance to run."

"You would've told your father, and hunted me down," Merlin rasped, surprisingly lucid.

"I might not," Arthur objected. _I don't know what I would have done_.

Gaius materialized at Arthur's side with a cup of water, tilting the boy's head with a wrinkled hand on the sunken cheek, to pour a few awkward swallows past purple lips.

"I won't run and be chased like a criminal, like a _monster_ ," Merlin added, a bit more strongly.

Revulsion rose thick in Arthur's throat. Two days ago he had seen a monster. Horrifying, dangerous, sneaky fast toxic. Merlin had fought the beast just as much as Arthur had, and for the same reasons; he had _healed_ , and more than that, he and Gaius had done for the kingdom what Uther's methods and Arthur's efforts could not. Discovering the cause, and the solution.

"You're not a monster," he whispered.

Merlin swallowed again, his throat – exposed without the neckerchief – appearing ridiculously vulnerable; he turned his head away from the physician's attempts to dab his skin dry fretfully, but kept his eyes locked with Arthur's gaze. Already his clothes were limp and draggled and the faint sour scent of sweat and something else, something like poison, clung to him.

"I was born like this," he rasped. "For a reason… for you. Destiny. If I can't have magic and use it… I might as well be dead. If I haven't got a destiny… then I am a monster."

"Destiny," Arthur repeated, sitting back and looking at Gaius, who had returned with another tiny glass of liquid to pour down Merlin's throat.

"For the headache," Gaius explained to both of them. "I'm sorry I can't do more." He adjusted the blanket that had twisted with Merlin's last spasm, tucking it around the boy, who cuddled down and closed his eyes again.

Arthur put his hand on Merlin's shoulder and rose to follow the physician back to the work-table. "Destiny," he repeated in a lower voice, glancing to be sure Merlin wasn't paying them attention. "Does he really believe in that?"

Most men believed in the supernatural. Something or someone higher, more powerful, beyond the perceptions, a force that _decided_. The sons of nobles were born to education and training, governing and fighting, serving and dying, and never questioned it was their destiny to do so. Arthur himself had been destined for his father's throne and crown from the moment of birth. Or before. But for a peasant like Merlin…

"He does," Gaius said.

With such certainty that Arthur couldn't help asking, "Do you?"

"Think of all the events, small trifling details, that led his path to cross yours," the physician said, stern but not without compassion. "And then the chances that made your paths merge, rather than intersecting to separate. It is a possibility worth admitting, that it was all by design."

Arthur shuddered. "Why?" he said. "A sorcerer –"

"Warlock is the proper term for a male born with magic," Gaius remarked inoffensively. Arthur blinked and shook his head.

"Why would destiny bring him _here_ and link him to _me_?"

"Without him, you would be dead," Gaius reminded him bluntly. "Magic was used to save your life, and more than once, you cannot ignore that."

Then perhaps… he owed a debt larger and more nebulous than simply sparing Merlin from execution. If Destiny had decided that this boy and his magic should be placed at Arthur's side…

He found himself moving back to Merlin's.

Then how dare he repay that gift with this? Trying to wrest it from its vessel – fragile, funny, reckless, strong, irreverent, bright, brave vessel –

Trying to purge it. The same way his father had tried to purge magic from the whole land. And if Destiny had granted it to Merlin, and Merlin to Arthur, then what his father had done with the law, the ban, the executions, was wrong.

And he himself guilty of the same sin.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by violent movement from the patient bed. This time, instead of curling up, Merlin's lanky body was splayed awkwardly, arms and stocking-clad feet flung beyond the small cot and brittle with tension. Gaius was faster than Arthur to the bedside, but again didn't touch the boy, just hovered attentively.

Arthur rounded the bed, to see clearly and be out of the physician's way. "Gaius, what –"

"Another seizure, and more severe," the old man said shortly, as tremors rippled through the long skinny limbs, worse and faster and worse til Merlin was shaking and _convulsing_ –

Then his head tipped back and his spine arched tautly and a pained cry punched from his lungs.

Punched Arthur right in the gut. "Do something!" he exclaimed, feeling a bit frantic. "He's in pain!"

"No – that was involuntary, too," Gaius said.

Tendons stood out in Merlin's neck and wrists, his shirt clung clammy to each rib and it was an eternity of agony before he collapsed soundlessly.

Arthur awkwardly bundled Merlin's limp arm in the blanket at his side, straightened his legs. Gaius waited for signs of consciousness, peering in the boy's face – moments passed and the old man's dissatisfaction grew.

"Merlin," Arthur said, swallowing the urge to follow the name of his servant with an order that was also an insult. You idiot, wake up. Please.

Not a flicker of response.

Gaius tapped the boy's cheek and said more insistently, "Merlin!" Not so much as a flutter of eyelashes.

The physician took Merlin's hand, seemed to pinch one of his bluish fingertips. Then reached to try the same on Merlin's earlobe, leaving red but useless marks.

"Gaius?" Arthur said uncertainly.

The old man half-stood, leaning on his fist over Merlin's heart to grind his knuckles on the breastbone – Arthur winced, thinking, _that'll leave a bruise_ – then Gaius collapsed with a strange choked cry.

"He is beyond my ability to revive him."

Arthur stared at the tear that found a groove in the old man's cheek to slide down, silent and secret and appalling. Never had he seen that, before. Turning suddenly to kneel on the bedside, Arthur gripped Merlin's shoulders to shake him – and this time, the orders and insults spilled out.

"Merlin, wake up, you lazy fool, there's work to be done," he growled, fear splintering through his chest, as Gaius tugged at the blanket trapped under his knee. "Things that need doing – important things – and you're here lying abed like an idiot –"

 _Brave idiot._

"Arthur!" Gaius said, in a completely different tone – one of surprise.

He looked down to see the old man shove the stool back from the bedside. His hands weren't even touching the blanket, which seemed to be tugging itself.

Stepping back so quickly it was almost a hop, Arthur watched in astonishment as the thin gray blanket rippled, rose – then folded itself to sail to a cupboard against the wall.

Which opened to receive it upon one of its shelves, then closed again.

Arthur looked at Gaius, who appeared just as bewildered as he, before glancing at the unconscious boy between them. Arthur said, "What was –"

Then jumped, as Merlin's boots leaped up from the floor to fit themselves gently onto his feet, one after the other. On the table, dishes clattered and shifted. In the corner, shards of glass twinkled and spun, up from a refuse bucket, to drop into the pile of dust just below – which the twig broom immediately began to brush across the floor, spreading it out.

"What is going on?" Arthur called to Gaius, who watched the commotion with a bit more calculation than astonishment.

"I believe –"

The broom with its mess reached the work-table, and the glass shards leaped up, merging into a unbroken dose-bottle that wobbled on the edge before scooting itself back safely. Arthur felt his mouth go dry and his throat tighten inexplicably; there was beauty in the ease and the usefulness of the incident.

"I believe his magic is trying to effect a reversal, of sorts," Gaius finished in a softer, almost awed tone. One by one, the candles began to go out, and Arthur managed to snatch one and relight it before its neighbors flickered out. "Just stand still," Gaius advised, providing the example. "I don't think we'll be in any danger."

A single candle was not illumination enough for the whole room; in the dim reaches, Arthur heard furniture shift, cabinet doors open and close.

"How is he doing this when he's unconscious?" Arthur demanded.

"I cannot answer that." Gaius, for his part, was watching Merlin with a look Arthur might have mistaken for fascination. "But I can hope…"

"For what?" Arthur demanded.

But the old man didn't answer.

The clattering, scraping, clinking sounds slowed after a while, and finally stilled. Arthur wondered briefly, belatedly, if the door was locked, then dared to light a few more candles. He dragged Gaius' desk-chair to the bedside, wordlessly offering to exchange it for the stool, in the interests of the old man's comfort.

Then dropped to the stool, opposite, elbows on knees, to rub his face in his hands. Gaius checked Merlin's pulse and breathing.

"I can do nothing else for him," Gaius repeated quietly. "There is nothing left to do but to wait, and to watch."

Hell night.

More than once, Gaius dozed off. Probably Arthur did as well, even uncomfortably hunched over his knees on the stool, before getting up to pace and stretch and get them both a drink of water, ignoring Gaius' offer of Merlin's bed and promise of immediate notification of change.

More than once, his heart stuttered to a stop, sure that Merlin had drifted away and was gone, only to watch his thin chest rise minimally once more. Once more.

How had he ever believed Merlin's life was his to judge? How had he dared to experiment in such ignorance?

Arthur's eyes burned. _This time tomorrow we'll know… one way or the other_.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he whispered, barely audible over Gaius' slow soft snores.

That show of magic, orderly and controlled and clearly not of Merlin's conscious doing made it obvious that there was more at work than one skinny sorcerer and one ignorant prince making choices. He hadn't thought there was anything above the law – maybe the king who made it, on rare and careful occasion – but he'd been wrong about that, too. _Right_ and _wrong_ transcended _legal_ and _illegal_. And destiny.

Arthur added silently – to neither of his companions, but he felt that he was heard anyway – _I am sorry_.

* * *

 _So tell me when my sigh's over_

 _You're the reason why I'm closed_

 _Tell me when you hear me falling_

 _There's a possibility it wouldn't show_

* * *

 _Merlin._

He listened, trying to determine who it was that said his name, in the golden maelstrom of magic that was neither threatening nor frightening.

It sounded like his mother, sweetly amused that she was calling him to wake for the second time. Then Gaius, less patient, less tolerant of delay or neglect of duty. Then the dragon, commanding and powerful.

 _Merlin._

It was Gwen, he decided. Admiring and scolding both. No, not quite – an unfamiliar female, whispering. Girl, or grandmother, or –

 _Merlin!  
_ That was Arthur. Not enraged at one of Merlin's many short-comings, but desperate.

It frightened him – Arthur feared nothing, needed nothing – he struggled to respond. _Coming, sire! Coming_ …

 _Your gift was given to you for a reason. Without you, Arthur will never succeed… there will be no Albion. None of us can choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it… You cannot do this alone…_

"I'm sorry."

The whisper brushed his heart, teased his eyelids open. A blur of candlelight – of dawn? – made a halo of the prince's golden hair. Or was it only mussed?

"I didn't understand… But, please. If I could have a second chance – if he could have a second chance –"

Arthur's voice caught in a way that sent a sympathetic pang through Merlin's chest. It set him gasping, and Arthur's head snapped up, abrupt and surprised.

"Sorry," Merlin choked instinctively, though he couldn't have said what for. "Sorry?"

"Merlin, you're –" Arthur's grin lit his face and he let out a single hard laugh. "You're awake! And back! How do you feel? You're going to be all right?"

How did he feel? He could see, and he could breathe and that was an improvement, at least.

"M'wake," he grumbled, casting his eyes around to discover that he lay in the main chamber of the physician's quarters, and that he could see even the smallest items at the far end as clearly as ever he could before. "Didn't know I went anywhere. Feel like you've been making me train all week."

Arthur's mood was undiminished by Merlin's, but his next question was considerably more hesitant. "And – your magic?"

Again, Merlin gasped air so quickly he choked on it, fear spiking.

"My magic," he repeated, trying to sink further into the patient bed.

Then memory rippled cool over that pain – he was outside the council chamber, separate from the roomful of men who could damn him literally. Followed only by his guardian – guarding his prince successfully through another fight – only to follow him into a battle more subtle and deadly than either of them had anticipated.

"Did the potion work?" Arthur said, more slowly. "Or do you still have it to use?"

Merlin stared into the clear blue of the prince's eyes, feeling like the mouse dangled to Valiant's snakes. He could not tell which option Arthur would prefer. He could not tell what he should answer, except…

 _The fact that you ever had magic stays between us, you have my word._

 _I'm sorry._

 _Second chance…_

The smile stretched his mouth all on its own; he felt the warmth and glow – a bit like triumph – he felt Gaius' wakening on his other side and the old man's gaze on his face, wary and hopeful, waiting also for the answer.

"Oh, yeah, it's there."

He endured Gaius' thumbing his eyelids and prodding his wrists and couldn't stop grinning, even though he was tired and didn't know quite what to expect from Arthur.

Then he realized, "I'm hungry," trying to remember his last meal, and failing.

Gaius began, "I can just get you some –"

Arthur interrupted the old man. "Gaius, send someone to the kitchens, have them bring my breakfast here – and enough for two more."

"I will, sire." Gaius leaned down to touch Merlin's shoulder. "Again, you amaze me," he sighed, then the eyebrow quirked. "I wish you won't make that a habit." Merlin snuggled into the blanket and bed, weak but weary, as the old man turned and left him alone in the room with the prince.

"What now?" he said.

"I did promise, no further punishment, didn't I," Arthur mused, mostly serious. "I suppose, if destiny gave you magic for a reason and brought you to us…" He hesitated and Merlin heard what he hadn't said, _to me_. "I will have to… take you as you are."

"And be damn grateful, too," Merlin whispered.

Arthur huffed, but conceded, "And be damn grateful, too." After a moment of Merlin shuffling, trying but without any real energy to find a more comfortable position, the prince added, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you going to stay?"

The question dropped into a sudden gulf of possibilities between them. Prince and sorcerer, noble and peasant, magic and… just two boys, trying to figure each other out.

Merlin joked, "As much trouble as you seem determined to get into, someone's got to save your royal backside."

Arthur jabbed a warning finger into his face, then reconsidered. "I suppose… if you're going to protect me… I will protect you, too. To the best of my ability."

To Merlin's ears, it sounded quite like a new knight's first solemn vow; the chasm was no more than a ripple in the dust, easily crossed. He hummed contentedly. "If it doesn't change anything for you, it doesn't change anything for me. And I still need a job."

And a good reason to shadow Camelot's heir almost everywhere.

The prince barked out another laugh. "And I need a servant, my chambers _still_ have not been cleaned –"

Merlin allowed a whimper of protest, as his eyes dropped shut of their own accord. "What are my chances of getting today off? At least this morning?"

"It's a possibility," Arthur allowed. Merlin could easily picture the smirk that accompanied that tone, but the brief ruffle of his hair took him by surprise. "However remote."

Merlin heard the truth in his prince's words. The apology, the gratitude, the care and concern. The beginning of understanding.

"Thank you, my lord," he yawned.

It was the morning of a new day, and it was enough.

* * *

 _By blood and by me, and I'll fall when you leave_

 _By blood and by me, I follow your lead_

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for everyone who favorited/followed and especially reviewed! Even if I didn't get back to you in a PM, I really appreciated all the comments!**

 **Fyi, if anyone is interested, Merlin's symptoms mimic those of an opioid overdose, only spaced over a whole day. Just because I didn't want to choose symptoms at random.**

 **And, lyrics to "Possibility" by Lykke Li.**


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